Inhale. I can taste the memories in the air today, young boys pestering their fathers to…
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Teaching Yourself How To Fall Asleep
Have you ever felt that your life all your life every single minute that you spend waking sleeping…
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You’re sitting in your room and staring at the wall when suddenly your spine shudders in a shrill scream of ice-cold vigour and…
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The Economy of the Printed Page
Fiction is almost always as fictional as we wish for it to be, because the sounds of prose…
2 notesInstances
Imagine if time wasn’t a concept we imagined in our minds and tried to understand as it drifted away. Imagine if time was tangible- if we could walk through hours and days and centuries; if we could fold our lives up and store tiny squares of instances in our pockets. Imagine if the distance between then and now didn’t exist, and the future was just another thought in the labyrinths of our lives.
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Notes From A Dream Journal- Part 2
I swallowed the night in a single breath. I could taste the darkness on my tongue.
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It looks almost exactly the same as the world I live in, really. Only two things are different.
3 notesThe Meadows Under The Sea
I mistook the sea for green meadows yesterday, while Walking down the pier and asking myself why I only Ask the questions I already know the answers to. I looked at The sky, smeared with blood-orange, madness, and Mystery, and kept on walking, walking until I reached the End of the pier and entered the green meadows, filled with Tulips, god-like wonder, moons, and starfish. I mistook the sea for…
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Empty Constellations
I cannot see the stars from my roof today. I cannot see the stars from my roof today and That makes me uncomfortable; almost as if Someone painted the sky with cheap black acrylic paint and Covered it in varnish. I cannot see the stars from my roof today and That makes me want to pick up a bucket of light and Smear it across the horizon, creating wormholes of Illumination in dank darkness.
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You’re
A placard on the whitewashed walls of a Subway station that nobody reads but Everybody remembers. A dash of lightning that sends shivers down my Spine and shocks of static through my skin. A mirror that refuses to reflect but somehow always Shows people their true self. A word that always feels wrong on my tongue, Even though you’re always spelt right. Inspired by Sylvia Plath’s ‘You’re’
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A Poem At The Grocery Store
This is a poem. This poem begins with the sound of A grocer’s fingers on his grey calculator Tapping swiftly, yet softly, creating Sounds that outlast the conversations of Customers in the aisles buying Canned tomato soup and happy memories. This is a poem. This poem follows the customers through the Grocery store, overhearing phone-calls and Irrelevant banter, situating itself in-between the…
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For the times the world lit up like a Magic lantern, when the sun glowed like a…
Etymology
“Where do your words come from?”, she asked, as we Discussed the evolution and devolution of language. “Where do your words come from?”, she asked, as I Opened the dictionary at the local library. “My words come from the soft nuances of Childhood”, I told her, “From the sizzle of the Pan as my mother cooked breakfast, from the Loud footsteps of my father, as he stumbled down the Stairs. From the…
If your soul is a white rabbit, Let it travel through the stars and The skies and let it reach the…
